


Beyond Boredom

by watsonholmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babysitting, Exchangelock AU Exchange 2014, First Meetings, Fluff, Teenlock, exchangelock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsonholmes/pseuds/watsonholmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't need a babysitter. But the thing is, now, he wants one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YakuzaDog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YakuzaDog/gifts).



> I hope you like it! <3
> 
> Special thanks to my lovely [Sophie](http://charlesmagnussen.tumblr.com) for her awesome edits and beta and all her amazing amazingness in the making of this fic. <3

“I do not need a babysitter, Mycroft, as I am not a baby”, Sherlock huffed and slumped on the plush sofa in Holmes Manor library. Mycroft was standing behind the great antique desk arranging his briefcase. Tilting his head, he gave Sherlock that look. The look that says, _Come now._ The look that Sherlock hates the most in the world; what he wouldn’t give to wipe that off his fat bulging face.

 

“I will be gone for two days, Sherlock. Mummy made me promise to do the best I can to keep you out of trouble, as you so often seek for it. As such, I asked the son of the Watsons, Mummy’s friends. John Watson will be with you during the two days I am away.” Mycroft said, not bothering to look at Sherlock. He knew what he would see there. Sixteen years of Sherlock made him quite the expert.

 

“How old is he, anyway? This _John._ ” Mycroft noted the disdain in the last word.

 

“He’s 18. In his last year at sixth form. I know you’d like to deduce it for yourself so I won’t say any more. Keep things interesting?” Mycroft was waiting for a text from his assistant, Anthea, when the doorbell rang. “Ah, must be the young Mr. Watson.” He turned to Sherlock, “Sherlock, let us greet your visitor properly. We wouldn’t want him to think he is not welcome.”

 

“Well, he isn’t!” Sherlock said indignantly before standing, and walked behind Mycroft.


	2. Chapter 2

John’s never been one to decline an opportunity to make more money; besides, this was incredibly convenient for him as he was still on the lookout for summer jobs. So, when his mother asked him to babysit for a family friend, he readily accepted. It was odd though, John thought. His mum said he was gonna babysit the younger Holmes, Sherlock, his name was. Sherlock was 16 years old and he needed someone to babysit him. Probably for the best, he thought, less work for me.

So, here was John, standing in front of the grand door to the Holmes manor, ready to ring the doorbell once more before it opened and saw two figures awaiting him. The tall one must be Mycroft. His expression gave John the creeps. He could feel something else was going on in that man’s mind which was very different from the pleasant and incredibly convincing smile he put on. Behind him, stood a thin and lanky boy, with a mess of raven black curls and a scowl on his face, that must be Sherlock. Well, he couldn’t blame the boy for having a scowl, he was sixteen and his elder brother was still insisting on a babysitter. John licked his bottom lip without thinking as he forced a smile and introduced himself “Hi, I’m-”

He was cut off by Mycroft nodding once and finishing his sentence for him “John, yes. I’m Mycroft Holmes, and this is Sherlock. Yes, he’s sixteen, and no, that doesn’t mean he’ll be easy.” He smirked as he continued his professional speech, “He knows the rules, though I doubt he’ll follow them. You have access to anywhere but our private bedrooms. Internet connection, television, comfortable settees and food are provided. Oh, and please, don’t let him burn the manor down, will you?” And with that final statement, before even waiting for a reply, Mycroft walked past John and headed out onto the drive, as his dark sedan pulled up. 

John blinked rapidly, processing everything that had just been spouted at him, he finally turned to the drive and called at the man walking away from him “Erm, Okay. We’ll see you in two days…” The blonde looked back at the doorway, but the sixteen year old had disappeared. Weird, John thought, before he sighed and walked in, calling out into the grand hall.

“Sherlock? Are you even going to say hello? Tell me where things are?” John received no reply, so he rolled his eyes and started looking around, he found what seemed to be a living room, and he decided to set up camp there. He walked over to one of the rather expensive looking settees, and plonked his bag down.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock watched him from the doorway, keeping out of sight as he narrowed his eyes at the older boy. He flexed his fingers as he decided what to do. Should he cause havoc? And if so, how? Or should he just slink off to his room and ignore him? 

As he tried to decide what to do, John got his books out. From where he was perched, Sherlock could only make out part of the book titles and saw that they were mostly Biology and Chemistry books. Interesting.

His first impression of John was much the same as any other person he’s ever come across. Boring. Dull. Completely and utterly ordinary. His unassuming look made Sherlock deduce he was the common variety of dull people. However, new people to deduce was always fun, not really a challenge, but an exercise for his brain nonetheless. As Sherlock pondered more about this John Watson, he heard light snoring which came from the man himself. He didn’t know how long he’d been thinking about John, nor would he ever admit that he spent even a minute moment thinking about him.

John was sitting on the living room sofa; his Biology textbook lying on top of his chest. Sherlock decided to investigate a little more about his two-day companion; his earlier ideas forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

John was a bit uncomfortable. His neck felt stiff and there was something heavy on his chest, making it harder for him to breathe. There was also this niggling feeling someone was staring at him. That was when his mind seemed to work once again. He wasn’t at home, that much was certain, going by the extremely soft sofa under him. It also smelt different. His home had this distinct smell of sunshine and toast that John was fond of. This one, though, it smelt like old wood and freshly picked flowers.

John couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone was staring at him, he tried to ignore it and just sleep, but it was bothering him. He reluctantly opened his eyes, expecting to see nothing, but instead he saw the pale figure of a thin boy sat across from him. John’s mind didn’t catch up for a second as he was working out who it was, but it all clicked into place when he remembered that he was at the Holmes manor, and that pale figure must be Sherlock. He yawned a little as he sat up and faced him “Hey, you okay?”

The curly haired boy looked back at him with his icy eyes, he shrugged a little as he replied “I’m just watching you.” Sherlock knew the statement how creepy his statement was, but he didn’t care. Sherlock sat back in his chair, his eyes had that unique quality to it, John mused. It looked like melted silver. John liked it immediately.

John knew that stare would intimidate a lot of people, but he held his ground. “Watching me? Why? I seemed to have dozed off. This chapter was beginning to give me a headache.” He chuckled as he picked up the Biology textbook and put it on the table near him. He gave Sherlock a small smile, not wanting to cause even more of a rift between them, he didn’t want his two day stay to be too unbearable. 

Sherlock didn’t back down as he eyed John’s others books “I’m watching you because I’m deducing you. You want to be a doctor, correct?” He was actually rather interested in what the older boy was studying, as they were subjects that Sherlock was thinking he would take too. 

John looked at him, a little perplexed, but he didn’t make it obvious. “Yep, I’m off to uni next year, at Leeds. What do you want to be when you’re older?” he tried to make normal conversation. He genuinely wanted to know more about his ward. The first time he laid eyes on Sherlock, he knew, well, deduced, that he was eccentric, a bit distant, incredibly smart, and entirely fascinating.

He didn’t seem to hear John’s question. Or, more likely, he did but didn’t deem it worthwhile to answer. “You’re in need of a job, obviously. You took this one because you thought it would be easy money. You thought wrong, by the way. Your family life is not good right now, judging by the state of your clothes and the lunch pack your mum made you, a very bland ham sandwich. You slept on the lilo, no wait, the sofa. Why? Possibly because you stayed up watching telly. More likely because you were waiting for your brother to get home. Hmmm…” Sherlock paused, as if considering. “Maybe you didn’t like what happened the last time he came home drunk, upset your mum? Of course. Angered your father? Likely. So you, being the responsible younger brother, you want to prevent that from happening again, so you waited for him. Although he didn’t come home. You’re still worried, of course, but you had to leave early for your job here.” Sherlock stopped his string of deductions thinking it was enough to go on with. 

Here it comes, Sherlock thought, as he prepared for John’s version of ‘piss off’.

“That’s…. that’s brilliant! Aha. Wow. How’d you know all that?” John asked eagerly, his face lit up and smiling at Sherlock.

Sherlock released the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Brilliant, surely he misheard. Sherlock closed his mouth. How was it even hanging open? Obviously, he didn’t know what to say. Sherlock Holmes, struck speechless by a barely cognizant 18 year old. The word brilliant has never been uttered after his deductions; a litany of profanities and insults were the only things he knew. His face felt warm, Sherlock Holmes, the high-functioning sociopath was blushing. He imagined his ears being red at the tip. He averted John’s gaze and looked at the boy’s sock-clad feet.

“That’s not what they usually say,” Sherlock said, almost too soft for John to hear, but he did. His eyes were transfixed on John’s left sock, it had a hole in it. The boy found it silly, although, silly was definitely not in his vocabulary.

“And what do people normally say?” John asked, he was leaning forward now, trying to catch Sherlock’s eyes and gaze upon them once more.

Sherlock noticed this, and he straightened. “Piss off”, Sherlock supplied. He tried his best to feign indifference. It didn’t bother Sherlock that he was an outsider, that people were wary of him, called him a freak, sneered at him when he walks past. No, it didn’t bother him, and even if it did, he would never admit to it. He would rather have them loathe him than have their pity. How abhorrent that notion was. 

From an early age, Sherlock knew he was different. At first, he didn’t understand, until one day, Mycroft told him that they were different, that their minds were leaps ahead of everyone else, and that Sherlock should not be ashamed of being different. “Besides, normal people are dull, Sherlock. They’re far too predictable.” He could recall Mycroft’s words that day, the day he understood, the day he decided being different was not a weapon other people could use against him. 

John must have said something to Sherlock then because he looked as if he was expecting a response. Sherlock shook himself and wanted to ask what John had said before…

“I said, then other people must be dull.” John was looking at him, with that smile. Oddly, Sherlock had already catalogued that smile. Of course, among other things concerning John.

“Dull. Yes, extremely so.” He leaned forward unconsciously.

“I hope I’m not too dull. I’ll try to be less dull during these two days we have.” John offered.

“I must admit that I first thought you would be one of them. Ordinary people. But now, I doubt it.” Sherlock smirked.

Sherlock gazed upon his sitter—trying to figure him out, what made him tick, what made him John, what made him interesting. Sherlock thought he would ponder on this for quite some time.

So here they were. Sherlock and John. Both leaning forward from where they sat. Eyeing one another, deducing, observing, seeing.


	5. Chapter 5

If someone asked how long they’d been staring at each other, drinking each other in, they wouldn’t be able to answer. Frankly, neither boy cared. The here and the now, was all that mattered. They can feel something changing, shifting, falling into place. A few minutes more, Sherlock broke the silence.

“You’re bisexual.” Sherlock stated with an air of finality, he smirked as he watched the blush bloom across John’s cheeks, Sherlock wasn’t going to lie, he thought it looked rather endearing, and ‘cute’ if he must label it.

The sandy haired teen frowned as he felt his cheeks redden, he just hoped that it wasn’t too obvious as he cleared his throat and replied haughtily “Does it matter?” He really hoped that he wasn’t, because it would make these two days even worse.

Sherlock scoffed “Of course not. If you bothered to look, you’d know that—” He gestured to himself “I myself am homosexual. Although I haven’t had any experience on either males or females.” He stood up, clapping his hands as he went over to John, towering over him from his lanky height.

John looked up at him, blinking and swallowing; he felt small and, if he must admit it, intimidated. The teen shuffled backwards a bit so he was in more of a sitting position than standing, so he at least felt a little less prone as he replied “Oh, okay. So, uhm… You’ve never had a boyfriend then?” He didn’t even know why he was asking, he could kid himself and say he was just making general chatter, but he knew it was for ulterior motives. Although Sherlock was cold and unwelcoming at first, John had found him attractive, he was lean but with hints of muscle, his hair was messy but looked perfect to card a hand through, and his eyes had instantly caught John’s attention. Not to mention his bloody cheekbones, they were high and sharp, and John would love to stroke a finger down one of them.

“Obviously,” was the reply he had gotten, besides the eye roll. John had a feeling Sherlock did it often. ”Enough chatter, John.” Sherlock was now moving away from and walking towards the staircase. “Would you like a tour of the house? You said you wanted that.” Sherlock had his hands clasped behind him. He was waiting for John to get up and follow him.


End file.
